Rook
by whisperasweknowit
Summary: Five years ago, following seven brutal murders, all the suspects were executed publicly by the peacekeepers. District 11 thought they were safe, but a ghost from their past will surface in the 387th Hunger Games to wreak more havoc than ever before.
1. Prologue

Under the cover of night, the beast was pleased. Here it could carry out its bloody work without the harsh daylight allowing witnesses to see its work. Its human was nimble and young. He was very capable of killing, and killing was what had been done tonight.

Six had been slaughtered tonight, and a seventh was to conclude the gory episode. This grand finale had been saved specially for last, and the beast purred with desire in anticipation. Its meal was close to complete. This pièce de résistance would quell its thirst. It could lie dormant for years so long as its human was not convicted. It would awaken now and then, but after this seventh death, it would be content to retire.

The human was poised up in a tree, an axe in hand. The blade glistened with blood that caught the moonlight. The moon had been climbing steadily for hours now, and it was nearly midnight. The prey would be walking by at any moment. The human would strike and the beast would be satisfied.

Rustling branches behind him startled the human. His weapon slipped slightly and he tightened his grip around it frantically. This was no time to slip up. The beast roared inside of him and a flicker of fear passed through his eyes, but it quickly disappeared. He had killed tonight already. The time for fear and for doubt had passed.

Gripping his weapon more tightly, the boy edged a little ways farther down the branch. He was not scrawny. Since he was seven he had been building up muscle and strength and wit. This was the murder he had been meditating on. The others were mere byproducts, things the beast hungered for. He didn't mind the beast. As long as it brought him to his ultimate goal, the extras were just fine.

First it had been a doctor. Then an innocent woman. A young boy and girl from school. A neighbor. Lastly, a teacher. They had seemingly no connection, which was just what the human needed. The peacekeepers were smart, but even they would not be able to connect the seven murders. He would not be punished.

And then the minute was upon him. Below walked the unsuspecting victim, going home after a long day of work. Quiet as a mouse, the human dropped down from the tree and landed directly behind him. The blood on the axe was ready to mix with its last victim.

Channeling the anger that had been building up for the last six years, the young man pulled back the axe and then swung his arms forward, slicing the head clean off of the man in front of him. He made no sound with his mouth, only falling with a heavy thump to the ground. The head rolled a few feet away and came to a stop with the face staring at the killer. The head wasn't quite dead yet, and the eyes opened wide and blinked once before stilling.

It was done.

The beast gave a final roar as the human hacked at his victim with the axe. Bloody ruts marred the body. Final, the beast quieted and the human stopped moving. From his pocket he pulled a single feather and placed it on the deceased man, as he had done with all the victims that night. He raced home and cleaned the weapon. It was getting close to dawn. The stolen weapon would need to be returned swiftly. If he was seen he would be convicted and killed. There was no one to say he hadn't been home all night, so if anyone dared to suspect him there would be only him to vouch for his whereabouts.

Heart beating faster than it had during any of the killings, he raced to the shed where the tools were kept and stowed the axe away safely before high-tailing it back home. He had not been seen.

This pleased the beast.

* * *

><p>The human awoke in the morning to screaming. He couldn't help but smile to himself. He knew why they were screaming, and to cause such turmoil excited him. But now it was time to act.<p>

He sat bolt upright and dashed downstairs, flinging open the door. There, one of the people from across the street was screaming over the body of the neighbor he had killed last night. He forced tears to spring to his eyes and began screaming, too. The surrounding houses came to see what the noise was and joined in.

All around the District there was screaming. There were seven bodies to despair over, after all. When a peacekeeper told him that his father had been killed, he began wailing louder than anyone else. He fell to the ground at his father's body and hugged him, his pajamas soaking up the blood that had not yet dried.

No one suspected this boy.

* * *

><p>And so he watched as seven suspects were rounded up. The entire District was called to the square and they watched as seven peacekeepers whipped seven citizens to death. The boy made it look as though he were trying not to cry, as the other children were.<p>

But on the inside he was grinning. He was jumping for joy, he was practically singing! The blood of seven victims had touched his skin, and he was not held accountable for the lives of any of them. He had won this round.

They judged him old enough to live without a parent in his own house. He worked hard in the fields to get by, and people took pity on him because his father had been slaughtered. No one knew that he had done it. They gave him things and tried to help him. He refused politely, laughing at them in his head. They were so stupid. They were all so stupid!

Life went on after that night. The beast lay dormant, content to live on the blood that had been spilled. It didn't bother the human and the human didn't bother it. The relationship was mutualistic.

* * *

><p>That was five years ago.<p> 


	2. Of Course

Reaping day. Rad.

I found myself conflicted during the Reapings each year. I was torn between wanting to be in the Games and wanting to stay here. No one volunteers here. They would think I was strange. Well, more strange, anyway.

There was a part of me that thought I would do well in the Games. There was a part of me that thought I could be a victor. But a smaller part of me compelled me to stay home. Life was easy here. People didn't bother me and I didn't bother people. I knew how to survive. I got by with ease. It was almost unfair, how well I lived. District 11 wasn't supposed to be a nice place. However, I didn't require much, and so I was happy.

My whole life I ended up leaving the Reaping up to chance. I was content to wonder what it was like outside the District instead of actually finding out. It wasn't boring here. There were new things every day, if only one bothered to look. Not once in eighteen years had I been bored with the District I called home.

But that was beginning to change. I was becoming restless. A bird can be content to live in his tree so long as it supplies him, but a bird is not meant to be stationary. He has wings, and he wants to use them. Lately, I'd been testing my confines. There were many trees whose branches reached over the fence. The peacekeepers were really quite stupid despite the rumors. At six-feet-and-one-inch tall I can regularly slither up the trunk and drop down outside the electric fence. It started with just touching the ground on the other side and going back.

Then I got bolder.

I'd roamed miles from home before. No one noticed. No one cared. I could stretch my wings and look at the sky, wondering when I would truly take flight. The Hunger Games were my only safe way out. I was comfortable with breaking the law, but this was too big for me to risk.

So it was this year that I would volunteer.

I got out of bed and wandered to the bathroom. The little house was dead silent, as usual. I glanced in the slightly warped mirror and smirked at my hair. I had long ago given up on making it look normal. It desired to defy gravity, and so defy gravity it did. I had never seen it lie flat while dry even once in my life. It stuck up and out and all over. The puff gave me a bit of a mad scientist look, which was fine by me.

From the closet I pulled out my clothes for the day: simple dark denim jeans and a royal blue V-neck shirt. The shirt was my favorite, and I wore it almost exclusively on special occasions. Nice clothes were hard to come by here, so I treasured mine. I slipped my feet into my regular beat-up sandals. Shoes were even harder to come by. Many people didn't have any. These ones were my dad's. I didn't know where he'd gotten them, but I was pleased to have them in my possession.

The kitchen was mostly empty, but I wasn't hungry, anyway. I tended to not be in the mornings, and today there was a feeling in my stomach that made it impossible to eat. I couldn't pin down just what I was feeling. I was hardly ever nervous, so I wanted to call it excitement, but that didn't seem right, either. I shrugged and went back to my bedroom. I opened the drawer on the rickety bedside table and grabbed a small drawstring bag. Straightening up, I stuffed my token into my pocket and closed the drawer. I didn't expect anyone would give me anything better.

My shack of a house wasn't right next to the fence or anything, but it was pretty far from the main square nonetheless. I set out early, wanting to be close to the stage. To expect there to be volunteers I'd have to compete against to get into the games was ridiculous, but I figured it'd be easier for everyone if I was right there. The Reaping wouldn't begin until two, so I still had an hour to kill. I woke up late today after staying up long past midnight watching the stars. The night sky was my favorite thing to watch, and a night where I didn't have to work the next day was one that would be spent lying on the roof, watching, thinking.

I shoved my hands in my pockets and straightened my back, meandering through the streets. An unexpected wave of nostalgia began to creep up on me. When I got to the Capitol, my fascination would push out any longing for District 11. For now, there was nothing to distract me. I didn't have any particularly fond memories here, but suddenly everything was a story to tell. The run down café run by an elderly woman who lived longer than anyone else in the District. The fence that was only half-done when we ran out of red paint, so they chucked it in an alley for kids to play with (again, the peacekeepers really aren't that bright). The tree that got struck by lightning and died but never got chopped down.

And then I found myself in the square. There were a surprising number of people already present. I quickened my pace as I went over to check in. After I was cleared, I headed over to my section. A couple other guys were there. I knew them from school, but they didn't acknowledge me. I didn't care. The less people who talked to me, the better.

I crossed my arms and settled for looking pensive as the square filled up and spilled onto the side streets. I was deep in my thoughts when the clock struck two and the mayor began to speak. I straightened up and shook my head, as though waking from a dream.

The boring history of Panem and the Hunger Games was recited. This was followed by the hilariously short list of District 11 victors out of the three-hundred-and-eighty-six previous Games. Then up on stage came the ever-enthusiastic escort, Claudia. The woman had ghostly pale white skin and electric blue hair that matched her eyes to a T. It was disappointing, really, that it was these kinds of people who would be styling me for the next few days. The white skin was just a bloody disaster. There was no connection in my brain between it and looking good. I wanted to cringe looking at her.

Yet she captured my attention as she cheerily greeted the crowd. With great gusto, she reached her spindly white fingers into one of the bowls in front of her. She plucked out a name and unfolded it in front of her bright blue eyes as though it was the best secret she'd ever been told. With a girlish smile, she announced, "Magnolia Puffett!"

Hm. Interesting.

Magnolia was sixteen. She was very pretty. She didn't work in the fields, so her skin was lighter than most of the District. It was clear and looked smooth. Her curly dark brown hair fell around her face in neat ringlets. She was also set apart by her round-edged features. Don't get me wrong—she wasn't overweight or anything. She was quite skinny (who wasn't in the Districts?), but she lacked the angular features people like me were defined by. She was the kind of person who looked like she'd be excellent to snuggle with.

…Pretend I didn't say that.

She stood next to Claudia. She wore a simple dark green dress, displaying her wealth. It wasn't sickeningly tight like the abomination Claudia was wearing. It was modest, hugging her chest but having a loose skirt that fell to a few inches above her knees. It was strapless, and if you studied her gray eyes close enough, you could tell she wanted to pull it up a bit but didn't want to be caught doing so on camera.

Being in the Games with her would certainly be interesting. I focused my dark eyes on Claudia just as she reached down to pick the name of the male tribute. I parted my lips, ready to shout the two words that would change everything. I stopped blinking, staring straight at her eyes. She opened her mouth and said the two words I was not expecting.

"Rook Ataiyan!"

Fate, man. It blows minds.

**AN: I know this update is long overdue, but reviews are still always appreciated. :3**


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